


Firecracker

by Purdy18



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Explosions, F/M, Fast Cars, Fist Fights, Hot Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purdy18/pseuds/Purdy18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does Fiona Glenanne, former member of the IRA, bomb maker, bank robber & gunrunner extraordinaire do when not helping super spy Michael Westen with his burn notice or assisting him with one of his many clients? How does she make the money she needs for her designer shoes? Here is my take on what Fiona got up to off-screen during the pilot episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firecracker

Disclaimer: Burn Notice is not mine. I make no money from this story, it is all done for fun.  
This story first appeared on FanFiction. It was BETAed by my good friend Jedi Skysinger.

()()()()

 

Fiona Glenanne knew she shouldn't be behind the wheel of the silver BMW convertible. First of all, it wasn't her car. She had found it parked up all alone on the street, obviously in need of a new and more caring owner. Second, she was drunk and pissed, which was never a good combination.

"Pissed an' pissed.” The flame haired woman laughed bitterly as she pressed down evener harder on the gas pedal of her open topped ride.

“This's all Michael's fault... He wa' tha reason I drank too much Saki, an' he wa' tha reason Am drivin' outta Miami like tha hounds o' hades ar' affer me inna 'borrowed' car.” The thoughts flew through her mind as fast as the wind swept through her tousled hair.

Leaving behind the bright lights of Miami, her mind drifted over what had led to her driving at highly illegal speeds in a stolen car. She had done her best to make things work, she really had. She'd spent a small fortune on the perfect dress for their date. The material was soft to the touch and hung just right to give a hint of what was waiting for him underneath. She had styled her hair into a loose chignon to expose her neck; she remembered how he had loved to plant soft kisses along her neck and then would slowly make his way up to nibble on her ear.

At the thought of his touch, she reached up to comb her fingers through her loose and tousled hair before trailing her fingers down along her neck and over her chest. Tilting her head, she imagined his lips laying feather light kisses from her shoulder to her ear and his warm breath tickling her neck, sending shivers up her spine as his hand made its –

The sudden wail of a car horn and flash of headlights snapped her back to reality. Sitting up straighter, she went back to having two hands on the wheel.

"What's wrong wid me? One date wid Michael Westen an' I'm actin' like a teenager!"

Stamping her dainty high heeled sandal down hard on the gas pedal in frustration, she continued on her way out of the city.

Where had it all gone wrong?

The night had started so well. Michael had agreed to the meal without a fight and without a single comment about how she had managed to find him. The Japanese restaurant had been his choice, though it was her love of sushi she was sure that had prompted the choice. They had kept the conversation light while she put on a masterful display of what she could do with her lips and tongue on a set of chopsticks. He had whined about his mother's constant calls before they had turned the discussion to the reasons behind the burn notice. It was when he had complained for maybe the fourth time about being dumped in Miami that she had taken the initiative and hinted about restarting their relationship.

"Maybe, if you stop running, you could maintain a normal relationship."

But he had instantly shot her down. "There's three things I'm good at: tactical analysis, hand to hand combat and I'm a decent cook...But relationships – they're just not my thing. They never were."

"Well, yar in Miami now. Why not get yarself a twenty four year old wid big fake tits."

"They bore me." Then, as if he suddenly realized he had hurt her feelings with his previous answer, he added. "If it makes you feel any better, you were the closest I ever got. It, it just wasn't close enough, – I guess." He looked away obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

Not close enough? How much bloody closer could they get?

Instead, she had turned the conversation onto the surveillance team that had been following them around all evening. While she had him distracted, letting him think she had missed one of the FBI agents, she started plying Michael with more than his fair share of the Saki.

"Maybe if I loosen him up a bit, it'll remind him about all tha good times," she had thought.

With their meal finished and the bottle of Saki emptied, they had strolled leisurely along the pavement back towards the loft. On the way back she had leaned into him, one arm snaking its way around his waist. While she taunted him with tales of her former lovers, her free hand rubbed across the front of his blue sweater, the friction making his nipples harden and his breath quicken.

Just before they reached the tall rusted metal gates that led to his home, he spun her around. With his hands cradling her head, his mouth pressed against hers in a hot demanding kiss. When they broke apart, he gasped and stepped back.

"We need to get inside." He'd finally managed to speak, though his voice was rough and husky with lust.

She had failed to notice at the time that he was already drawing away from her, that the kiss had been nothing more than a moment of weakness. At the time, she had thought he was as eager as she was to renew their relationship. She'd smiled at him, licking her lips and returning his lust filled gaze before slipping past him to drag the tall rusty gate open.

"Ya've lost yar sense o' adventure, Michael. Ya must have fergotten about tha time in Derry when ya had me up agin tha back wall o' tha Derry police station?" she'd teased.

"I haven't forgotten," he'd said, trailing after her. "It's just – " His hand settled over hers, stopping her progress.

"Yar reminding me o' me last boyfriend, Kavan. He were jus' like yar now: safe an' – boring." She remembered looking over her shoulder to give him a light peck on the cheek before removing his hand so she could go inside. "I warn ya now Michael, I cannae shag a man who acts like he works in the bank. It would be tha end."

Passing through the gate, she released her hair, turning fast to let it billow out around her in the cool night air. Every move she made was a step in her seduction. He liked her hair pinned up for easy access to her neck, but he also liked to run his fingers through her long auburn mane, gripping it tightly when drawing her into a kiss.

"Kavan? What was wrong with him? He was rich, he's handsome and you broke up with him?" 

Michael had continued following her inside, stopping only to pull the gate closed behind him.

Her heart had skipped a beat; he had slipped up. He wasn't quite as uncaring as he pretended to be. If he knew who Kavan was, it meant he had been keeping tabs on her.

She remembered the feel of the cold, slightly damp wall of the club as she'd fallen against it. Her breath had been coming in gasps as she had thought about what was to come.

"He had no tactical awareness." She'd caught hold of him reaching up to kiss his bottom lip. "He dinnae know how many exits thar war in a building." Another more demanding kiss and her hands were pressing on his chest and sides desperate to touch the hard muscles which lay underneath. "He dinnae know how ter shoot." She'd maneuvered him back against the metal railing. "God, ya spoiled me, Michael."

"And I thought it was my winning smile," was all he had managed to get out in reply before her own mouth had closed over his. She couldn't wait any longer; she'd had every intention of having her man. As she had taken possession of his mouth, her tongue had stroked against his while his hands which had been resting on her waist began to slide upwards his thumbs brushing over her the edge of her breasts.

She gasped now, her hands tightening on the steering wheel as ahead of her was the turn off that would lead her to her chosen destination. Easing up on the gas pedal, she slowed the car down to make the turn.

All the while, the only thing on her mind was how Michael's hand had slid into the side of her dress to cup her bare breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple and sending waves of pleasure right down to her core.

"Don't move. Sugar wants you out," had been the words which had announced the arrival of the after dinner entertainment.

"She's not part of this. Let her go." 

"Shut-up," the muscle bound goon had ordered.

"He's right, Michael, shut-up." She had pressed her body up against his, one hand cupping between his legs, giving him a little squeeze, before she'd turned to face this latest threat to their lives.

"I kin handle me self." She had smiled at Mr. Armed and Dangerous, recognizing his type instantly: an amateur who wouldn't have lasted ten minutes in Belfast.

She had run her tongue over her lips, as she looked him up and down, thinking all the while: "This is gonna be fun."

The loser had actually returned the look, stripping her bare with his eyes. She'd let him have that happy thought; it was going to be his last one for some time.

Then she had attacked. Knocking the gun to one side, she had gotten in close to deliver a devastating head butt which had sent him to his knees and then, while he had been too stunned to retaliate, she had stolen his gun and used it to pistol whip him into unconsciousness.

How she loved testing her skills against men like the one that had lain at her feet.

Smirking, she had turned her attention to the man standing by the steps. She had won the fight; it had been time to collect her prize.

With her blood pumping so hard that she could hear the sound whooshing through her head, she had dropped the loser's gun into Michael's hand.

"Ya need ter do sommit about yer neighbors." 

Trailing her fingers over the front of his pants and smiling at the obvious sign of his growing passion, she had started on her way up to his bed. She had made it as far as three of the rickety metal steps before he had killed the mood.

He had told her that he had to clear away the hired gun and that he needed his sleep. She had stared in disbelieve as he told her violence was foreplay for her but not for him.

"Liar!" She had wanted to scream at him. How many times had they barely made it away from the police or an army patrol before he had pounced on her? There had been a time when he couldn't keep his hands off her body. Violence, explosions, a barely made escape had always been the best type of foreplay for both of them.

But instead of denouncing him for the lying bastard he was, she had dropped her head and had backed down the steps. She knew damn well how to turn him on, how to get on his last nerve until he was about to snap. She knew if she'd really pushed his buttons, they would have still been entwined in his bed right now.

Violence was foreplay. It got your blood pumping and got every sense working. It made you see, hear, and feel every glorious sensation. It made you glad to be alive and he knew it. How many times had they screamed bloody murder at each other, how many times had he blocked her blows or tried to restrain her with the light of lust burning bright in his eyes?

As she'd stalked away, she had remembered how the sensation of his teeth on her neck had made her feel, how his hands could ignite a fire in her core when they roamed over her body, his fingers lightly dancing over her bare flesh. How that one moment they would be tangled in her hair, then on her neck before tracing down to cup her breasts, while his teeth, his lips and tongue worked to drive her insane until he would send her totally over the edge. That's what she had been waiting for, what she needed now. The meal, the Saki, the guy laid out cold on the ground should have all lead to Michael's bed. But it hadn't worked out that way.

He'd left her wound up, wounded and spoiling for a fight. Her body was still throbbing with desire. The hired muscle had just been a taste of what she wanted. Now one hand was off the wheel and resting on her thigh, enjoying the tactile feel of the silk against her skin. With her lips parted, she tried to concentrate on her driving while her hand stoked and caressed the warm skin of her inner thigh.

Well, if she couldn't have Michael Westen, then she would have to find another way of calming the itch that had her flesh tingling. Finally, she pulled into the parking lot belonging to Benny's Place, a hangout for Miami's smugglers and gunrunners. Here amongst her own people she was bound to find one foolish soul who thought he was up to the task.

Checking out her appearance in the rear view mirror, Fiona applied a fresh layer of lip gloss and ran a brush through her hair. Then she was on her way. If she couldn't get her fun one way, she was damn well going to get it some other way.

She was Fiona Glenanne and she always got what she wanted

()()()()

Having managed to make the walk across the pot-holed, unlit parking lot filled with a variety of mostly four wheel drive vehicles without twisting an ankle, Fiona passed under a dim neon sign declaring Benny's Place was open.

Throwing open the heavy leather padded steel door, the Irishwoman entered the dimly lit bar and paused while her eyes adjusted to the dark and smoke filled room. It was late, nearly 1 am, and the place was packed. Every tall padded stool along the long oval bar was taken up and more people crowded into any available space, either waiting to be served or just to hang out being too lazy to stray too far from the source of liquor.

Looking further into the large room, she made a quick study of the customers filling the booths along the back wall and those sitting at the tables which were scattered about the center of the room. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she let the door close behind her and stepped further inside. Just before she began to push her way through the mass of people surrounding the bar, she managed to take note of three potential emergency exits, a fire escape at the back of the building and two doors off to the right which led to the toilets.

It was then she spotted Marcus Dwyer sitting in one of the booths, rising up out of his seat to wave her over. Marcus was the one who had told her about the bar. He was as far as she was aware the only person she knew in Miami from her old life in New York and before that in Ireland. Locking eyes with him, she shook her head letting him know she wanted to be alone. Familiar was not what she was looking for. If Michael wasn't going to see to her needs… well, she had other ways of settling the burning desire which had left her wanting to hurt somebody.

She wasn't after sex; if that's all she had wanted she would have stayed in the City. No, she had been looking forward to a nice little sparring match with Michael, which would have undoubtedly ended in a night of wild passion. But because his mind was too wrapped up with his damned burn notice, he'd blown her off with the half-assed excuse that he needed to get some sleep.

So, if she couldn't fight with Michael, she would find somebody else to bear the brunt of her frustrations. Only the unlucky person would not be allowed to win, would not be allowed to pin her down in the battle for dominance and most definitely would not be ravaging her body until she screamed for release. Now all she was out for was blood and violence.

With no available seats, she stayed at the bar, leaning her back against the hardwood surface while drinking her imported beer straight out of the bottle. There was no pool table, no dance floor. Benny's Place was exactly what she had been told it was. An old fashioned bar where people came to drink and make deals. There were a few scantily clad women about the place, but she doubted a single one was married or an official girlfriend to any of the men present. As she sipped at her drink, she could see every woman in the place was eyeing her up and trying to decide if she was a threat. Whatever looks a few of the more territorial females sent her way she ignored. They were of no concern to her; pulling hair and wild slaps weren't part of her repertoire.

Relaxing back, she was struck how much the place reminded her of some of her old haunts in Belfast and Dublin: dimly lit places where she would have been one of the ones sat in a dark corner booth going over plans of the next bank job. Places like this were ideal for laying out strategies. Everybody knew everybody else, making strangers stand out and it was too damn noisy for any law enforcement to use directional microphones to listen in.

Suddenly, her view was blocked by a crumpled plaid shirt. Looking up, she found the shirt was being worn by a tall slim man who was probably a few years younger than herself. He had short very tightly curled black hair, dark brown eyes and a drunken leer on his lips.

A hand landed on the bar either side of her arms and, as he leaned in, she got the full aroma of tobacco and whiskey fumes straight into her face.

"Hey, pretty girl, you lost? Why dontcha come wit me? I got jus' what you need."

Fiona quickly assessed the situation; this Prince Charming was well toned, not bad looking, confident and very drunk. Add to that was the fact nobody else was trying to move in while he took his run at her. That told her he was well known to the regulars and either feared or respected. Her lips twitched in a smile as her eyes roamed over him. Respected rather than feared was her educated guess. She didn't get a sense of evil from him.

Then he leaned in closer, his stubble covered chin grazing her cheek as his lips hovered just off her ear. "You smell real nice, darlin'. You don't belong here all alone."

He worked fast; she had to give him that. All of a sudden, one of his hands had left the bar and was making its way under her dress, snaking up her thigh. She didn't even have to think about retaliating. Her right hand curled into a tight fist and delivered a hard punch to his jaw all on its own.

As he fell back half a step and released her, she finished him off with two well delivered kicks. The first one was a sharp, lightening fast tap with the side of her foot to the side of his knee and, as he began to fall, a second harder stamp came down on his shin. It was as she delivered the second kick and heard the sickening crunch of a bone breaking that Fiona realized she might have gone too far.

Collapsing onto the floor in an undignified heap, he let out a loud yell which brought every eye in the place round to stare at the drama taking place. Fiona wasted no time bringing out her compact H & K pistol from her purse. Cocking back the hammer, she prepared to fight her way out if necessary.

"Back off, tha lot of ya! Fiona put away whatever piece o' hardware yer waving about. Lose it now!"

The crowd parted as Marcus Dwyer came barreling towards her through the crowd, his six oldest sons clearing everybody out of the way. "Get back ta yer drinks!" he ordered, shoving one man who hadn't moved fast enough out of his way.

He was in front of her now, his hard dark eyes glaring at her until she slipped her semi automatic back into her hand bag. "If I'd a known you were gonna go round picking fights wiv me friends, I'd a never have tol' ya about the place," he growled at her in mock anger.

"Friend?" Fiona queried as she finished straightening her dress and combing her fingers through her hair.

"Aye," he nodded to where another man was trying to get her injured assailant to lay still. "The fella you've just crippled is Matt Delaney an' the other one is his big brother, Jojo."

Fiona looked from Marcus to Jojo Delaney and suddenly felt the need to justify her actions. "I didn't come har wid tha intention o' hurting one o' yer friends, Marcus," she told her old associate. "But he did put his hand up me dress, an' ta be completely honest he stinks o' tha hard stuff."

"Oh, well then, that explains it all, don't it Jojo?" Marcus laughed.

Jojo Delaney was still trying to come to terms with the sight of his six foot plus younger brother being knocked on his ass by the tiny little woman who they had jokingly been calling a poor little South Beach princess not five minutes earlier.

"It surely does," he replied. "What the hell did ya do to him, girl?" he asked Fiona as she knelt down beside him.

"I gave him nought but a coupla little taps wid me foot tha's all," she explained as she reached into her purse and brought out an ivory handled butterfly knife.

Exposing the blade with a flick of her wrist, she slashed open Matt Delaney's pant leg from the knee down. Then when the younger man let out a yelp and tried to move away from her, she held him still with an iron like grip on his ankle. "Oh, be quiet," she scolded. "It's a tiny little break, tha's all. It'll heal in no time at all."

Jojo ran a hand over the top of his head and let out a long sigh. "So how d'ya suggest we sort this mess out?" he asked.

Looking up, she caught the eye of one of Marcus's sons. "Ryan, be a dear an' get me a coupla chair legs... I'll splint his leg it'll make it easier fer when ya take him outta har."

"Owww, keep the little bitch away from me, bro!" Matt yelped as Fiona began to straighten out his damaged leg.

"Stop ya howlin' boy; yer showin' yerself up," Jojo chided as he held his younger brother down. "D'ya know who you took on? The little South Beach Princess is Fiona Glenanne – from New York."

Fiona chose that moment to make the final adjustment to Matt's leg, setting the bones back in line with a sudden movement.

"Fuck! Fuck! Get the – " Suddenly he went quiet his head lolling back onto the floor as he passed out.

One of Marcus's sons silently handed her two chair legs and a couple of leather belts before speaking to Jojo. "Pa said fer me an' a coupla o' your boys ta drive Matt ter tha nearest ER, an' tell em we found 'im out in tha street while he has a talk wiv you an' Miss Fiona."

Jojo was too busy concentrating on watching Fiona carefully apply the makeshift splint his brother's leg to look up, but he waved a hand in the direction of two members of his crew. "Luca, Juan, go with Matt to tha hospital... Tell em he got hit by a car crossin' the street."

Five minutes later, Matt had been carried out of the bar and it was as if nothing had happened. The noise level was back where it had been before and everybody was back in their seats or propping up the bar.

"So, d'ya think you two can play nice?" Marcus looked from Fiona to Jojo. "I've gotta a job to get to."

Jojo half turned and took three shot glasses filled with whiskey from one of his crew. Handing Marcus and Fiona one each, he held the one he had saved for himself up in a toast. "Will ya accept my apology on behalf of my stupid ass brother?"

Fiona smiled graciously and clinked her glass against the older man's glass, "Only if you both accept my apology for breaking his leg."

Marcus finished his drink in one gulp. Wiping his hand over his mouth, he dropped the glass on a nearby table. "Good, Jojo give me regards to your lovely wife and, that business tomorrow, I'll be dropping tha cargo off at your – ."

"Er, that could be a problem," Jojo muttered.

"Problem, how?" Marcus didn't look pleased. "My buyers are expecting their goods by tomorra night."

"I'm short a man if ya didn't notice. I need six divers an' at least two on top to keep watch."

Marcus sighed and looked between the two people before him. "Fiona, are ya still lookin' fer a job?"

It was Fiona's turn to think. For some reason, Michael's voice sounded clearly in her head. "The best way to make a new friend is to solve a problem for them."

"Well, I have a little job to do in the morning, but afterwards – " If she was to stay in Miami, she was going to have to build up a new network of contacts and earn some money.

"Good. That's my girl. Jojo meet your new diver. I once watched as she went down an' planted half a kilo of Semtex to tha side of boat back home in Ireland."

Jojo hesitated, but only for a moment. He was still trying to come to terms with all the stories he had heard about Fiona Glenanne and reconcile them with the delicate little thing in front of him wearing a designer dress and sparkly sandals. "If I hadn't seen ya in action, I wouldn't have believed it possible. But if Marcus says ya can dive, I'm willin' to give yer a try."

Marcus beamed; his deal was saved. "Pick up the merchandise affer two o clock tomorra afternoon an' I'll see ya once I get the payment off tha buyer."

They both watched as one of South Florida's premier black market explosives dealers gathered up his crew and headed for the door. As the last of his men disappeared outside, Fiona saw a familiar figure leaning against the bar.

"Michael." His name came out as a sigh.

"That intense lookin' fella stood at the bar, is he wid you?" Jojo had noticed his new business partner's eyes were gazing at the dark haired newcomer, who was trying to hide the fact he had a gun in his hand by keeping his arms crossed over his chest.

"Er, yes, he is. I should go... Tomorrow then, where shall we meet?" She was too distracted by Michael's sudden appearance and what it meant.

"The marina at Brickell Key. Be there at three."

Nodding to Jojo, she kept her eyes locked on Michael. Her vision was tunneling as he held her gaze. A shiver ran up her spine and she pulled herself back. He had blown her off, sent her away with a poor excuse after leading her on. Her lips twitched in a small smile before she broke eye contact and turned back to Jojo.

"Until three, then, Jojo. I have ta go now... I have ta help a man sort through a few o' his issues."

()()()()

With a sultry smile curving her lips, Fiona let her eyes roam over Michael's figure as in turn he watched her slow measured strut in his direction. She took her time, letting him see what he had nearly let get away. Then, as she came to a stop in front of him, she produced her cell phone from her purse.

"It's bad manners ter put a tracker inna lady's phone," she sang as she waggled her cell at him.

Wordlessly, he took the phone out of her hand and slid the back off to remove the little piece of technology. "Even if it's the lady who used the tracker first?"

He handed both phone and tracker back to her his fingers lingering on her palm a little longer than necessary.

Raising an eyebrow, she crossed her arms over her chest. "What are ya doin' har, Michael?"

He moved a little closer, a hand tentatively brushing a stray lock of hair off her face, his eyes devouring her with a look that left no doubt in her mind as to why he was at the bar. "I, got rid of the drug dealer's hired gun, and then." His hand was on her neck now, his fingers very gently coaxing her to move into his personal space. "I discovered I wasn't as tired as I thought."

She swore he had some hypnotic power over her because somehow she was right in front of him, the palm of one hand resting flat just above his heart. Taking a short gasping breath, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Tilting her chin, she stared into his eyes. "So, why are ya har?"

"For you, Fi," he answered simply and her heart lurched in her chest. "We should go."

Half turning, she checked out what, or rather who, had captured his attention and saw a few of the regulars sending unfriendly looks in their direction.

"We could stay," she grinned, feeling the heady sensation of adrenaline beginning to flood her bloodstream. "Fight our way out. It would be like tha ol' days."

"No, Fi. It took me half an hour to lose the Feds who were following me. A bar fight would attract too much attention."

Leaning into him, pressing her body against his, she stood on tiptoe to playfully bite his bottom lip before drawing away. "Yar no fun, Michael, no fun at all."

With that, she turned away letting him watch the seductive sway of her hips as she led the way outside.

As soon as the fresh air hit her, Fiona stumbled and, if Michael hadn't been there, she would have fallen to her knees.

"Shall I drive?" He held onto her while she regained her balance.

She couldn't see his face, but she could imagine the smirk curving his lips.

"Wha' did ya steal ta get har?" She was well aware that Michael's taste in stolen transport ran to, inconspicuous and boring.

"The silver Honda."

She followed the line of his arm as he pointed across the parking lot to a ten year old four door sedan.

"I wanna feel tha wind in me hair, Michael," she whined, moving away from him so she could spin around . "I wanna go fast an' have some fun... Ya remember wha fun is, don'cha?" she taunted, staggering over the uneven ground to where she had left the BMW convertible.

"I'll drive." Michael caught up to her as her hand closed on the driver's door handle. Snaking an arm around her waist, he laid several light kisses behind her ear as he maneuvered her into the passenger seat.

With her head laying back against the headrest, she stared up at him. "I still wanna go fast an' have some fun, Michael. D' ya thing ya can manage that?"

He didn't answer until he was in the driver's seat, reaching under the steering column to twist the ignition wires together. "Go fast, wind in your hair and have some fun," he ticked off her demands.

"And I wanna hear ya say how sorry yar fer kickin' me outta yar home earlier," she added as the engine roared to life and he left the parking lot in a cloud of dust and gravel. As soon as the tires hit the road, he pressed down on the switch which retracted the soft top and the warm night air whispered about them.

Fiona sighed, stretching her arms high above her head enjoying the sensation of the wind caressing her skin. Staring up into the night sky, she took several deep breaths getting some much needed oxygen to her brain.

"So whar are we goin'?" she asked, dropping her hands down and allowing one to land heavily on Michael's thigh.

"I passed a motel on my – " His words came to a sudden stop as her fingers dug into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

"Ya've only completed one part o' yar assignment, Michael." The mocking sing song tone was back in her voice and as she spoke her fingers released their grip and began a slow walk higher up his leg.

Suddenly, she was pressed back into her seat as the car began to rapidly accelerate.

"Sorry, I'll try to stay on task," he called out over the roar of the engine and the sound of the wind whipping past them.

Returning her hand to Michael's leg, she stroked her hand over the denim clad limb. "Now, for some fun Michael; I recall I told ya I can't be with a boring man."

She heard his sigh of irritation, followed by the powerful car engine begin to complain as it reached near the top of it's range, and smiled.

Fifteen minutes later on an unlit badly maintained back road, he brought the car to a sudden sliding stop. Looking about, she saw a rusted, eight foot chain link fence and on the other side a junkyard.

"Michael?" A junkyard in the middle of nowhere was not her idea of fun.

Getting out of the car without speaking, she watched him rush around and hold her door open. "Come with me." He enticed her out of the car by laying feather light kisses on the knuckles of her hand as he pulled her up to stand next to him.

"This way." He walked along the fence looking for something.

"Michael, if I break a heel – "

He came to a stop and knelt down in the long grass next the chain link fence.

"If you think for one min – "

This time her angry words were cut off by the sight of what Michael held in his hand.

Her eyes widened and her heart began to thud in her chest. "Ya bloody beautiful man," she breathed, stepping closer to him, no longer concerned about her shoes or her dress. "Is tha' wha' I think it is?"

He lifted the clear plastic bag he had pulled from his back pocket level with his face.

"It depends on what you think it is."

She made to snatch it out of his hand, but he jerked it out of her reach. "I used to come here as a kid. By the look of it, it's still a popular hangout."

Holding the bag between his teeth, he dragged a section of the fence back.

Now that she had seen what he had planned for their own little party, Fiona was only too eager to take his hand and follow him inside. They moved silently amongst the wrecked cars, dodging around large potholes filled with mud and grease contaminated water. Finally, Fiona dragged back on his hand and pointed to where three twisted wrecks, which had once been two separate SUVs and a sedan, were piled up waiting for destruction.

"Give me the bag, Michael, while ya fetch me sommit to hold tha' wonderful mixture."

Ten minutes later, she stood back as Michael climbed up and over the wrecked vehicles, disappearing inside one only to suddenly reappear and run towards her with his chin tucked into his chest and his body folded low. He just reached her side as a deafening explosion ripped through the cars, sending multicolored flames shooting up into the air.

She watched the pyrotechnic display with a happy smile on her face and a warm glow spreading throughout her body. "I wa' right wha I said befer, Michael. Ya spoil me."

She reached up pulling him around, her arms snaking up to curl around his neck while her fingers threaded through his short hair. Sharp fingernails scraped across his scalp, holding him in place as her lips pressed firmly against his, and her tongue forced its way between his teeth to lay claim to his mouth. The kiss was long, deep and she poured all her passion into it. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

"Wha other man would think ter bring thermite ter a party?" she asked, stroking the back of her hand against his cheek.

Then as he opened his mouth to speak, she launched herself at him again sealing their lips together while one arm slid around his waist to hold him close allowing the nimble fingers on the other hand to set to work on his belt.

"How long has it been since we did – " She broke the kiss to ask her question.

"No, Fi." He batted her hand away from his belt. "The cops…"

She kissed him, forcing him backwards.

"The explosion…" He added

She kissed him again and he had to grab hold of her wrists to stop her assault on his jeans belt.

"We have to go!" He insisted.

She jerked her hands free and tilted her head, trying to decide if he was serious or not.

"That fire will have attracted attention. I have to keep a low profile."

As if to prove his point, another explosion rocked the junkyard as the first fire spread to more of the vehicles.

"Fine," she pouted, following him back to where the BMW waited for them.

As soon as they were both inside, Michael gunned the engine and the car took off again; behind them came the distant wail of sirens.

"So we've gone fast and you've definitely had the wind in your hair." He took a hand off the wheel and reached over to entwine his fingers in her tangled windswept locks before pulling her into a kiss. "And I hope you've had some fun." He released her from the kiss and stroked her cheek gently before returning the hand to the wheel.

Fiona licked her lips and studied his profile. In the dark, it was hard to read what he was thinking. He was staring ahead, concentrating on the road as he drove at dangerously high speeds.

Oh, how I'd love ta knock tha damn look off his face. 

She was breathing in deep, short gasps. Nobody else understood her the way that Michael Westen did and it annoyed the hell out of her, his cool calm confidence, his self control, and his ability to compartmentalize.

Well, let him compartmentalize this!

Leaning towards him, she started with soft lingering kisses to his jaw and then moved up to his ear.  
"Keep ya foot on tha gas, Michael. Ya would na want tha cops or yer fed friends ta catch up wid us nar, would ya?" she taunted him, nipping his earlobe and nuzzling his hair.

As her mouth worked on his neck, jaw and lips, her hands were roaming over his chest and sides, her fingernails scratching over his sweater, catching his nipples and making him gasp.

"Don't slow down. Keep ya eyes on tha road. Remember them nasty F. B. I. Agents ya runnin' fram, Michael."

"Fi…" Her name came out in a strangled moan.

She ignored him, her fingers busily undoing his belt, the button and then the zipper on his jeans.

"Jesus, Fi." Her hand rubbed against the growing bulge, now only covered by light blue boxers. "Fi – ona!" and then there wasn't even a layer of thin cotton in her way.

Her warm soft hand slipped between his legs, cupping and massaging his balls, and he was unable to stop himself bucking up into her touch.

"Naw, ya don't," she growled into his ear, her free hand pushing down on his knee, causing the speed of the car to increase. "Ya gotta keep goin'. We can't risk stopping now, can we?"

Then, without warning, she leant forward and took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling over and around his length.

"Fuck!" His whole body tensed and she felt the car swerve across the road.

His sudden loss of control spurred her on. Burying her face into his lap, breathing in his musky scent as she treated his fully aroused shaft as if it was her favorite popsicle, all the while doing her best to keep his foot on the gas.

She felt his hand on her back and then in her hair, clutching and pulling weakly; his breathing was becoming erratic as he became undone.

"Fi – I – oh!"

And then he fell over the edge, his body jerking as she swallowed everything he had to give. Slowly sitting upright, her tongue flickered over her lips.

At some point, he had pulled over to the side of the road and now he sat with his head flung back and beads of sweat rolled down over his flushed cheeks. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he sucked in air.

"God, Fiona." He opened his eyes and stared at her.

"Ya gave me fireworks, Michael. I wanted ter return tha favor."

Taking another deep shuddering breath, Michael shifted in his seat and pulled her towards him.

"What makes you think the fireworks are over, Fi?"

"More fireworks? Yar a constant surprise ter me, Michael."

"Oh?" He was staring into her eyes with such an intense look she had to restrain herself from reaching for his zipper again.

"I – I mean yar goin' ter an awful lot o' trouble, especially after wha' ya said ter me." Fiona wiped her thumb over his bottom lip and gave a little gasp as he sucked it into his mouth, his tongue stroking over the digit in a mirror of what she had just done to him.

Catching her breath, she added, "Putting tha tracker in me phone, just so ya could follow me, and then tha pretty display wiv tha thermite. I'm jus' wondering what else ya have planned fer tonight."

Tilting his head to one side, he released her thumb so he could answer. "First off, the tracker was yours. I was just returning your property and it was you that gave me the present assignment. I'm just following your orders." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I believe all that's left is an apology." He gently eased her back into her seat and restarted the car. "And you know me, I always complete my assignments."

"Yes," she grinned. "Yar always – very thorough."

While he turned all his attention to navigating the fast moving vehicle along the unlit back road, she took the opportunity to study him. Bruised and battered and thrown aside by his government, he was vulnerable right now but doing his best to hide it. Outwardly he was still projecting the cool, calm image of the spy who always got his way. But she knew him. She could see the tension in his jaw and the way his knuckles were whitening as they gripped the steering wheel, both sure signs that he wasn't as calm as he looked.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she was thrown forward and then back as the car suddenly slowed to take a sharp corner and then rapidly accelerated when the road straightened out. Shifting in her seat, Fiona returned to observing her former lover.

This wasn't the first time she had seen him since he disappeared in the middle of the night from their cozy little Dublin flat. Once she had gotten over his sudden departure, it had taken her quite a while to run across him again, but eventually they crossed paths in Tripoli. She had been so angry and hurt when she found him, he had been lucky to come out of the encounter in one piece. Then over the years, there had been Istanbul, Cairo, Milan and Berlin being the most recent. Each time they met up and briefly reconnected, it was a bittersweet reminder of what they had shared in Dublin.

Staring up at the night sky, she let herself hope. It would be different this time; he no longer had his government job pulling him away and she was no longer an active member of the IRA. For the first time they were both free to do what they wanted.

Smiling she raised her hands high above her head, feeling the wind whip around them and in between her fingers. With a little bit of time and some gentle prodding, he would remember what they'd had in Ireland and would come to realize they could have the same thing in Miami.

The car was slowing and she lowered her arms just as he pulled into a parking lot attached to a small motel. "It's two AM Michael. Nobody is going ter – " her words stopped when he produced a room key.

"You were so certain I would agree to stay with you tonight?" she accused, her temper flared just for a moment. Where did he get off thinking he could just snap his fingers? But just as quickly, it died. As soon as she had spotted him standing in the background at Benny's place, she had known where the evening would end.

"No, I hoped. But if you had said no, I would have still comeback here. We've both have a job to do in the morning."

"Ah yes, you need me as tactical support, to watch over your little real estate mogul." She joined him outside the car and linked her arm around his as they walked up a staircase to the second floor. "Explain ter me again why I should do this favor fer ya?"

"I bought you a nice meal."

"Yea, ya did. But I thought tha' wa' fer gettin' rid of yar fed problem?"

Michael unlocked the motel room door and pushed it open. Stepping past him, Fiona switched on the light and took a look around. The room was rectangular with a king size bed positioned against the wall to the left hand side of the room. On each side of the bed was a small nightstand with a lamp on top and two drawers underneath. Across the room, up against the right hand wall, a large TV sat on top of a five drawer dresser.

"Yes, it was. How about another meal before you move on, – you can chose the restaurant," he offered.

Walking further into the room, her heels clacking on the white tiled floor, she opened the door to a built in closet, revealing an empty hanger space and a shelf holding extra pillows and blankets, before moving on to another door. This one revealed a small bathroom containing a toilet, sink and shower cubicle. Crinkling her nose at the sad state of repair of the room, she turned around to where Michael stood in front of the now closed and locked door.

"What a delightful choice o' accommodation," Fiona quipped, as she made her way slowly over to the bed. She had caught the comment about moving on, he was obviously expecting this to be the same as all their other encounters.

"I'm glad you approve," Michael murmured softly.

"So, another meal, hmm. As tempting as tha sounds, I have another business commitment startin' tomorra afternoon, an' I'm not sure how long I'll be gone fer." She switched on the lamp next to the bed as he turned off the overhead light. Now was not the time to start a discussion on her plan to set up business in Miami.

"Okay then, how about breakfast? A Spanish omelette, made with eggs whites only." He was behind her, now his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

Fiona smiled as his warm breath caressed her neck. He remembered her favorite breakfast food. The smile turned to a sharp inhalation as Michael's nimble fingers undid the clasp that held her dress up causing it to fall gracefully from her body, ending up pooled at her feet.

"I'd best start apologizing now then," he whispered, his lips moving slowly along her clavicle and on to her neck.

She reveled at the sensation of his tender kisses which lingered against her skin and in the touch of his calloused hands as they skimmed up and down her arms. Turning she reached up, her fingers threading through his soft short hair as she kissed his chin.

"Ya really hurt me feelin's sendin' me away in tha middle of tha night, all alone an' defenseless in a strange city. Ya should be ashamed of yerself," she pouted.

"Defenseless is a bit of a stretch, Fi," he answered, inching her towards the bed, the fingers of one hand massaging the back of her neck. "When I walked into the bar, you had just broken some guy's leg."

"He put his hands on me, Michael. Wha' wa' I supposed ter do? If ya had arrived five minutes earlier, ya woulda been mortified at wha' I had ter endure."

"Oh, he touched you?" She could read the doubt in his expression.

"Like this?" he asked, his hand slowly sliding down to cup her breast gently squeezing the firm pliant flesh, his thumb flicking over her nipple.

"No," she breathed.

"How about here?" Licking his lips, his hand drifted lower, his fingertips trailing to her waist and then around to cradle her bottom, pulling her nearly naked body against his fully clothed frame.

"Yar gettin' closer," she gasped, the feeling of rough denim rubbing against her skin causing her whole body to hum in anticipation of what was to come.

"I'm surprised you only broke his leg." He gently eased a knee between her legs, teasing them apart as he returned to ravaging her neck.

Tilting her head to allow him greater access, Fiona did her best to keep her voice steady as she continued to speak. "It turned out he wa' a friend o' a friend. Besides, his brother offered me a job by way o' apology."

He broke off long enough to stare into her eyes. "That was nice of him."

"Yes, it was. Some people don't need ter be tol-" Her words ended in a surprised gasp as he suddenly lifted and threw her into the middle of the bed. "Michael!"

"Let's stop talking about your new criminal friends."

He slipped the sandals off her feet and ran his hands over her calves and then along her inner thighs, spreading her legs apart. "I believe you wanted an apology for my earlier behavior."

He dipped his head and began to kiss his way up her body. Soft kisses and licks around her ankle and along her calf, lifting her leg to gain access to the back of her knee, and then up her inner thigh. When his fingers slipped inside her thong to move the lacy material aside so he could place feather kisses on her core, Fiona felt herself begin to become undone. It had been ages since she had last felt a man's touch and Michael knew exactly what she needed. Scraping her fingernails over the sheet, she writhed as he continued kissing and lapping at her center.

When her fingers curved against his scalp, he stopped and lifted his head to stare into her eyes. Very slowly he ran his tongue over his lips, all the while keeping eye contact.

"Mi – chael?" she panted.

"Shhh, let's get rid of these."

Her thong was eased over her hips and down her legs. As the tiny lace article fell to the floor, he gave her wide toothy smile and she felt a finger slide into her, then a second. It had been so long and his touch was so good; as soon as he began to move his fingers, she came undone. As she moaned and reached for him, trying to pull him down on top of her, he resisted, remaining kneeling between her legs, his own desire rising as he watched her pulsing around his fingers.

Wave after wave of pleasure swept over and through her body, until she could take no more. Crying out his name, she lurched up to grab at his arms, pulling him down on top of her. Her mouth sealed over his in a deep demanding kiss while her legs wrapped around his thighs.

When they finally broke apart, he lay on top of her using his elbows to keep his weight off her chest.

"I'm sorry for not calling you." He kissed her forehead, then her nose and finally placed a soft tender kiss to her lips.

Raising her arms above her head, Fiona stretched, arching her back to push her chest against him. "Is tha it? Is tha all yar sorry fer?"

"I think so." Shifting onto his side, he rested a hand over her left breast, capturing her nipple in the gap between his thumb and forefinger. "I mean, without the tracker, I would never have found you." He dipped his head down to kiss the hard sensitive nub caught between his finger and thumb.

"Wha' about sending me out inta the night all alone?" A faint moan came from her lips as she felt his touch reigniting the fire.

He kissed his way up to her mouth, stopping when his lips were paused over hers. "You're the most capable woman I know, Fi. I think you proved that earlier tonight."

"Ya think compliments kin take tha place of an apology?"

"No," he smiled, "But I think actions speak louder than words." His ran his tongue over her lips before seeking to deepen the kiss, all the while his hands pulled and tugged until she sat astride him.

Straddling his fully clothed thighs, Fiona broke the kiss to sit up, arching her back and rubbing herself against the coarse fabric of his jeans, her hands fisting in his light blue sweater.

Losing herself in the sweet sensation, she felt another wave of fiery passion rising from her core. His hands were on her waist and then on her thighs, holding her in place as she rocked against him.

Her eyes went wide as his thumbs began to circle over her most intimate spot, teasing her into a frenzy.

She was building up for another orgasm, her hands clutching at his clothes, when she suddenly grabbed hold of his wrists forcing him to cease.

"Fi?" he panted.

"Yar – clothes." She let go of his wrists and reached for his belt. "I wan' ter feel ya, all o' ya."

In less than a second, they were fighting to remove his top, finally sending it to join her dress on the floor, before turning their attention to his pants, their fingers tangling as they worked to remove the last layers of clothing keeping them apart.

Finally, they were skin to skin. With a long sigh, Fiona stretched out over him, ghosting her hands over his bruised ribs. "Does it hurt?"

"No more than when you pushed me out of that second story window in Dublin."

"Well, tha's okay then."

Her teeth were nibbling on his ear, her nose nuzzling his hair breathing in the scent of his shampoo. This was where she belonged. There was only one thing left to make her feel complete.

Sliding back, she reached around to take him in her hand and then eased him into her warm moist entrance. She stared into his dark cobalt eyes as she formed a sheath about him. This was where she belonged. They shared a sigh and for a moment it was if they were frozen in time. She could feel him pulse within her and the stillness of his body belied the tension building in his muscles as he fought to remain still.

She set a slow pace, rocking gently back and forth trying to avoid damaging his ribs any more than they were already. Throwing her head back, she reveled in the sensation of being filled, his hands on her breasts adding to her pleasure, his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. If only this moment could last forever.

Then he shifted. Sucking in a deep breath, he twisted until he was on top, pinning her to the bed with his body, his pace quickening as he buried his face into her neck. Gasping as he drove the air out of her lungs with every thrust, he took her over the edge twice before he finally spilled into her, his whole body shaking as he finally slumped.

Sliding onto his side, he brushed stray strands of damp hair away from her face. "You were right. I should apologize for sending you away."

As he turned to lie on his back, she snuggled up with her head on his chest, a satisfied smile curving her lips. "I'll forgive ya, but only if ya promise not ter make tha same mistake again."

His lips pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. "I pro –I won't send you away again."

She caught his hesitation, but didn't care. It's all baby steps. He isn't used to being free of the beck and call of his government.

She was still awake half an hour later, staring up at the dull badly painted ceiling making plans for her new life in Miami. A new life she hoped would be shared with the man whose arms were wrapped protectively around her while he slept.

()()()()

The mattress dipped and the bed covers shifted dropping away from Fiona's shoulders, sending a shiver across her back. Stirring at the unwelcome sensation of cold air against her warm skin, she turned over and opened her eyes in time to catch sight of Michael's bare behind as he disappeared into the bathroom. Squinting to read the time off her wrist watch, she scowled when she realized it was only six am.

Wha' wa' he thinking? They had only been asleep fer a couple o' hours. 

With a soft groan, she wrapped the bed covers tightly around her body and lay listening to the sounds of running water. She thought briefly about getting up to join him. But it was only a brief thought. She was a little sore and completely sated, plus for a cheap motel the bed was surprisingly comfortable and it was far too early in the morning. Sighing as she burrowed deeper under the covers, she decided he could keep his shower all to himself while she snuggled down and caught an extra forty winks.

It seemed like only a few minutes later he reappeared with a towel wrapped low about his hips, one hand rubbing his hair dry with a smaller towel as beads of water trailed down his chest.

"Hey," he greeted her with a wide toothy grin.

"Yar up early." She found her eyes being drawn to his glistening if bruised torso.

"I want to get back to Miami, I've got a few things to do before we plant that bug in Pyne's car this morning."

"We?" Her interest was piqued; who else did he know in Miami?

"Just an old friend who's offered to help me out."

"I'd love ter meet one o' yar old friends, Michael," she teased, knowing full well he had no intention of introducing her to any of his other contacts.

"Ooh, I don't think that's a good idea. He's just an old friend from my military days, that's all." Ducking his head down, he grabbed at his clothes and began pulling them on in a rush.

He's hiding summin fram me, but when wa' thot news?

"Besides, haven't you got some criminal activity planned for later today?"

Now he's deflectin' t'put a stop ter me askin' awkward questions.

Standing up straight, he gave his damp tousled hair a final rub with the the towel before turning towards the door. "I'll go and fetch our breakfast while you get dressed." Then with a quick smile he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

With a weary sigh, Fiona slipped out from under the covers and padded across to the bathroom. Michael Westen was beginning to shift back into spy mode, but she could tell he wasn't quite there yet, something- or maybe someone- was holding him back, stopping him from running off at the first opportunity he got.

A few minutes later, she was standing under the warm water and, as she soaped her body down, her mind drifted back to a few hours ago when Michael had been fully engaged their mixed-up relationship. As she scrubbed shampoo into her hair, she thought about Michael McBride, the cover he had used when they first met. She missed him, her wild Irish lover. She knew he was still in there, buried deep under all the layers of duty and honor and all the other junk that made Michael Westen the perfect spy, she was just going to have to wait for him to reappear. These short passionate interludes were wearing a bit thin; she wanted more.

The same Celtic blood that allowed her to hold a grudge for years and for feuds in her native homeland to last generations gave her a strong stubborn streak. She had all the time in the world to wait for Michael to see sense. There was no way that what they'd had in that crazy eighteen months in Ireland and the passion they had shared since whenever their paths had crossed was an act or a carefully conceived cover. She knew with every fibre in her body they were meant to be together.

With the soap washed out of her hair, she switched off the shower and, after wrapping her long auburn locks in a towel, she stepped out of the cubicle to dry herself off.

Once he understood she wasn't going anywhere, it would only be a matter of time before they were back together. She would let him play at getting his job back; everybody knew once a spy was burned he was out for good. And even if he was cleared of whatever it was they said he did, nobody would ever trust him again.

Leaving the bathroom, she went in search of her dress, finding where it had fallen to the floor in an untidy pile. Picking it up and giving it a shake, she walked over to the bed to finish off toweling herself dry.

No, he just needed some time to adjust. She could afford to wait for him to come to his senses. Miami was the gateway to the southeastern region of the US. There was plenty of money to be made by somebody with her skill set.

Slipping back into her clothes, she ran her hands over the crumpled dress and wrinkled her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to the fabric from the hour spent in Benny's Bar. Before providing Michael with tactical support, she was going to go back to her motel room on South Beach and get a change of clothes. Smirking, she began to brush out her wet hair. Maybe Michael could be coerced into helping her change her outfit.

By the time the man in question came back through the door, she was dressed and lying on the bed reading an old magazine that a previous guest had left in the room.

"Ah've jus' been readin' all abou' Brangelina's pregnancy." She waved the open page in his direction.

Frowning in confusion, he leaned in to scan the page before dropping the bag holding their meal down on to the bed. "Who?"

"Brad Pitt and – oh never mind. I fergit if it's not end o' tha world as we know it news, yar not interested." Opening the paper bag, she delved inside for the polystyrene box holding her omelette. "Ya really need ter read summit other than trainin' manuals, Michael."

"I read," he protested. "I was stuck in a Riyadh storage facility once with only a Egyptian gossip magazine – and I read that Michael Collins biography you gave me. I just didn't expect you to be interested in anything that didn't go boom."

They sat together on the bed, eating, drinking and chatting about nothing particular. This was what she wanted, the normalcy they had shared in their little Dublin flat: breakfast in bed, maybe followed by a shopping trip or just an afternoon down the pub.

As she tucked into a passable Spanish egg white only omelette and he spooned blueberry flavored yogurt into his mouth, she found her eyes fixating on the way his tongue flickered out after every other mouthful to lick his lips. Realizing what she was doing, she quickly looked up and her heart skipped a beat when she caught him staring back at her.

"So," he quickly looked away and began clearing away the remains of their breakfast, dropping the carton and plastic utensils into the trash. "I guess it's time to get going, I've already paid the bill."

Swinging her feet to the floor, Fiona slipped on her shoes and accepted the hand he offered to stand up. Moving quickly she leaned into him, pressing up against his body to press a kiss on his lips. Then, before he could react, she stepped back and strutted out into the cool Miami morning.

She got behind the wheel of the BMW and waited for him to drop into the passenger seat before setting off to join the rest of the morning rush hour traffic heading into the city. While she drove, he sat next to her talking through his plan for dealing with Pyne and his bodyguard Vince. Listening to his animated talk she joined in, remembering all the other times they had bounced ideas off each other while planning a strategy.

But it was all over too quickly, far too soon for Fiona's liking. They were pulling into the Courtyard Motel and she was searching for a quiet spot to park where the stolen car wouldn't be noticed.

"Well, we're here," she smiled over to him, noting that he was already on his way out of the car.

By the time she joined him by the hood of the BMW, she could see he was emotionally pushing her away, preparing himself to leave her yet again."I jus' ave ta get changed. It won' take but a minute. Care ta join me?"She watched as he shuffled his feet and made a big show of checking his watch.

"I should go," he spoke awkwardly. "I have places to be and don't you have to get ready for your next job?" He stepped in and gave her a chaste kiss to her cheek and quickly stepped away. "Thank you, thank you for coming to Miami and for all the help. It means a lot to me." He shuffled in for another peck before turning abruptly and striding away.

Pursing her lips, she watched his rapid retreat, her eyes narrowing when he turned a corner and disappeared from sight without once looking back.

He dinnae look back once. She sighed deeply, then smirked as she realized why he had seemed so nervous. Ah he's rememberin' how I left him in Berlin. 

The memory of the blazing row followed by the multiple hard blows she had delivered before storming off actually made her smile. It was obvious now; he had thought their parting was going to end the same way as before.

"Ah well, he should be grateful I dinnae leave him bleeding this time," she muttered before turning away.

()()()()

Once in her motel room, she quickly checked that everything was how she left it and once she was satisfied nobody had tampered with any of her belongings, she kicked off her sandals and let the dress slip from her body. Luckily, she had visited the design district the day before and, along with the dress that now lay discarded on the bed, she had bought a couple of sun dresses and a white high cut bikini.

"Right then," she muttered. Changing into the swimwear, she checked out her appearance. "Bloody hell, this job better be worth me parading abou' like this."

Going to the wardrobe, she pulled out a brown suit she brought with her from New York and a fitted white T shirt to wear under the jacket. Once dressed, she brought out a small overnight bag and packed what she considered to be essentials: strappy sandals to go with her swimwear, one of the sun dresses to wear over the top after the dive, a double bladed knife in a sheath, her butterfly knife, a length of detonator cord, a garotte, and her favorite semi automatic handgun with five loaded clips.

Biting on her lip, she stared at her meager weapon supply. Under normal circumstances, one handgun and a couple of knives just wouldn't have cut it. She really wanted a nice rifle with a decent range, some C4 was always handy when needing to make a hole and a percussion grenade would have been a nice addition too. Sighing, she zipped the bag shut.

All in good time. Me big toys will be har soon an' then I won't have ter go about half naked.

Ten minutes later, she had brushed out her hair, fixed her make up and was ready to go out of the door. Passing by a full length mirror, she smiled at her reflection. This was the first day of a whole new life.

And let's hope this Jojo character keeps a decent arsenal on his boat. 

()()()()

Two hours later, Fiona sat in the lobby of a large office building, her eyes fixed on the rising numbers displayed above the elevator containing Michael's target, the real estate mogul Pyne. When the display stopped on the eighth floor, she turned her attention to the company index next to the bank of elevators and then picked up her cell phone. Lawyers, even thinking about them made her skin crawl. We could be har all bloody day.

After texting the address to Michael's phone, she settled back in a remarkably comfortable chair and produced the latest edition of Soldier of Fortune.

"Mr. Pyne! Sir!"

Fiona raised her eyes as Pyne stepped out of the elevator, just as a woman came running down the stairs. Dressed in a skirt suit and carrying what Fiona could only describe as a horrendous briefcase, the woman caught up to Pyne, forcing him to come to a stop.

"Miss Cooper, I've told you what I require -"

Fiona got to her feet and quickly walked past the arguing couple. Outside, she stopped on the steps and paused to look around. Thar he wa'. Dressed in a fancy suit, she would know him anywhere even when she was being dazzled by the sun rising up behind him.

Slowly, she put on her sunglasses and a small smile broke out on her face.

Oh, ya gonna be in fer a shock, Michael Westen. Jus' gimme a coupla days an' I'll be back ter unsettle yar calm.

()()()()

Sitting behind the wheel of her stolen car, Fiona smiled at her reflection in the rear view mirror. Ahead of her was a nice little job which would help ease her into the Miami smuggling community, followed by the fun of informing Michael Westen that she was setting up business in his home town, a place where if he had told her the truth he was unable to leave.

As she reached under the steering wheel to twist together the wires she had pulled from the ignition, her phone began the ring. Sighing, she sat up straight and looked at the screen announcing an incoming call. The name "Madeline" was flashing on the display.

Oh, today was just getting better and better.

"Hello, Madeline," she answered with real warmth in her voice.

"Fiona, dear, I hope I'm not being a bother I've been calling Michael all morning, but he isn't answering. Do you know where he is?"

"N-" Fiona got no further as Madeline continued.

"You see, I need him to pick up an urgent prescription for me. It's a new pill the doctors want me to try and I should have started them yesterday. But, you know Michael. He has so much on his mind; it must have just slipped his mind."

"Oh,"

"Will you be seeing him later? When you see him, can you remind him for me? I swear that boy has forgotten how to use a phone."

Fiona sat back in her seat, happily listening to Michael's mother's long list of complaints about her absent son. She had discovered quite early on during her little talks with Mrs Westen that all she had to do was put the occasional yes or no in the right place to keep Madeline happy. She really couldn't see what Michael's problem was with his mother. Madeline Westen just craved some attention. This was something else she would have to fix if Michael was going to get past all his 'issues'.

"I'll remind ham when I see ham next, Madeline, but ya should jus' keep callin'. He'll answer eventually."

"Oh, oh yes, you're probably right, dear."

"I've got ta go now Madeline, I've gotta busy day ahead o' me. Bye, it was nice ta hear fram ya. Now you go an' give tha son of yours another call."

"Well, if you're sure, I mean – "

"Am positive, ya jus' have ta keep ringin' 'til he answers." Eventually after a further five minutes she managed to end the call and get the car started.

Half an hour later, Fiona pulled into a parking garage overlooking Brickell Key Marina. Checking her watch, she saw she had plenty of time to scout out the spot before her meeting with Jojo Delaney. She had after all broken the gunrunner's baby brother's leg the night before and the man might have changed his mind about forgive and forget now that he was sober.

Taking out a set of binoculars, she checked out the yachts until she saw the one she was interested in. It was tied up next to a sign for Delaney's Sunshine Sea Cruises. 

So this wa' how he got by tha Coast Guard patrols. "Tha crafty bastid," she spoke aloud.

All the gun deals she had taken part in throughout the world had taken place either in the early hours of the morning on some deserted dock or, more often than not, out at sea away from prying eyes. Jojo Delaney apparently liked to do his deals hiding in plain sight. What was more innocent than sailing out into the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico with a tour group before sailing back into port?

Putting away the binoculars, she went to the trunk and got out her bag of supplies. After checking that there was nobody nearby, she ducked down behind the car and slipped out of her suit and into the sun dress. Standing up, she shook her head a couple of times before running her fingers through her tousled hair. Bending forward so she could use her reflection in the window, she applied a fresh layer of lipstick and then, picking up her bag, she walked down to the marina with a wide innocent smile on her face.

Nearing the yacht, she noted how busy the crew were loading up dive equipment and several large sealed crates. Reaching the gangplank, she paused with one hand on the rail until Jojo spotted her and came over, his eyes running over her delicate frame, flimsy dress and high heeled wedge sandals.

"Captain!" she called, out changing her Irish accent to a crisp upper class English one.

"Miss – ?" Jojo's face was a picture of confusion.

"Isabella Raymond-Addams." She held out an elegant hand. "I spoke to you yesterday evening regarding a dive?"

"Yes, you did." Jojo caught on to her new personna. Moving forward, he took hold of her heavy bag and escorted her on board.

"You dinnae tell me ya take civilians on yar little expeditions." She hid her words behind a wide dazzling smile.

"Ya didn't ask, girly, yar eyes an' mind wuz fixed on tha fella stood at the bar, remember?" he replied in the same manner.

"So, wha's tha plan har? Isn't it dangerous havin' innocents aboard?"

"It keeps the Coast Guard off my back, an' the taxman happy... We go out to a marker, the payin' customers go off on a legit dive an', once they're off the boat, the rest of us take the cargo off the boat an' leave it tied to an anchor line down at sixty meters."

"Well, that sounds perfectly delightful, Captain," Fiona spoke up using Isabella's voice. "Please, introduce me to the rest of the party."

Dropping Fiona's bag down onto the deck with a solid thud, Jojo lead the way over to where a group of three men and three women sat talking excitedly about the upcoming dive.

"Hi folks, this here is the last of your group to arrive. Miz Adams, she's on vacation from England. So if you'll excuse me, I'll just go make sure we're all loaded up and then we'll be on our way."

Fiona ran a professional eye over the group. They were three well established couples, all about the same age and, from the way they spoke, obviously holidaying together.

"Delighted to meet you all." She greeted them, as they stared back.

"You're on your own?" one of the women asked with a hint of concern, her fingers laying claim to the arm of the man at her side.

"My partner was called away. He's a slave to his business," Fiona answered, her gaze drifting away from the group to check out the deck. "I, on the other hand, am more well-adjusted. So if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go work on my tan." With a gracious smile, she walked over to the lounger furthest away from the group and slipped out of her dress before laying back to catch the sun's rays.

For over an hour, they travelled out into the Gulf of Mexico. The whole time Fiona laid back enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on her body. She listened to the voices of the women in the tourist group and, from behind her sunglasses, watched the way they moved and gestured.

She was in need of what Michael would call a cover. There was a very angry man looking for her in New York and she was fairly certain it wouldn't take him long to realize she had moved on. When that happened, he would put the word out he was looking for an Irish woman dealing in guns or robbing banks.

So before that happened, she planned on reinventing herself. Jojo's comment the previous night about her looking like some South Beach Princess had struck a chord. She just needed a little time to learn the role. Besides, it had been quite a few years since she'd had the opportunity to indulge her love of fine clothing and designer shoes.

It had been a European arms dealer named Armand who had introduced her to all the finer things in life: expensive clothing, exquisite jewellery, and fast cars. The man only ever travelled first class, stayed in five star hotels and dined at the finest restaurants. He had lavished her with attention and wooed her with gold, diamonds and a plethora of weapons. But he was a soulless mercenary and she was in love with another man. In the end, they had remained business associates and nothing more, despite his hints he would have preferred it to be otherwise.

"Miz Addams," Jojo called out. "Would ya mind joining the group for a briefing? We're nearly at the first dive site."

She sat up slowly, grateful for the intrusion. Just thinking about Armand and her time with him was enough to make her skin crawl. Getting to her feet, she slipped on her wedge heels and joined the tour group who were all sitting around a low table, eagerly listening to Jojo's dive master going over the safety procedures and specific dangers of the dive they were going on.

Without turning around, she felt Jojo at her side. "They're going to dive a wreck, you go in last and stay with your 'buddy' Hector. Once the guests are at the wreck, we have forty minutes to complete the drop."

"And nobody has every caught on to what you're doing?"

"Not so far." He stopped talking business as the dive briefing ended and turned back into Captain Delaney without a break. "C'mon Miz Addams I'll introduce ya to your dive buddy, Hector. He's a real nice guy. He did some dives over in the Red Sea a few years ago."

She took her time checking out the hoses and gauges on the equipment Jojo had supplied for her. She was forming a liking for the gunrunner, but she also knew from experience not to trust easily. Finally when she was satisfied that everything was in working order and that Delaney wasn't planning on her having a nasty accident at sixty meters underwater, she slipped on a neoprene wetsuit and continued with her preparations.

The job had come through Marcus Dwyer, who she had known for years, first in Ireland and then later in New York. She was positive Marcus wouldn't have sent her the job if he thought Delaney wasn't trustworthy. Slipping on the BCD, she tightened the straps. Now wa' not tha time ta have doubts. This wa' tha first step in har new life..

"Here, let me help." Hector came over with her twin tanks, fitting them to the back of her BCD and fixing the straps to keep them in place. "Name's Hector."

"Pleased to meet you Hector. You can call me Isabella." She did a quick scan of all the activity as the tour group got ready to explore the wreck of a fishing boat which had sunk thirty years earlier.

Once they were all in the water, three of Jojo's crew went off with the tour group. Their job was to show the paying customers a good time, keep them safe and to make sure they stayed away from where the real money making activity was taking place on the other side of the yacht.

Fiona waited next to Hector as the crates she had seen being taken on board the yacht back at the marina were lowered into the water. From the way they floated, she could tell they had been treated to make them waterproof. Following Hector's lead, she gripped a handhold in one of the straps fixed round the crate and held on while Hector fixed weights to the crate to help it sink.

They swam down in a group, two divers to each crate. Eventually, Fiona spotted a series of lines floating in the current. Attaching the lines to the crates, they then began to ascend slowly, stopping at intervals to decompress.

Reaching the surface, she bobbed up and down with a beaming smile on her face. It had been a long time she had dove in warm water. Removing her fins while she floated next to the yacht, she passed them up to one of the crewmen and then waited while Hector helped her off with the tanks.

Back on board, she accepted a soft fluffy towel from Jojo and noticed on the other side of the yacht the sounds of the tour group returning.

"So, is tha' it?" she asked as she rubbed the excess water from her hair.

"We go on to a second dive and then head back to Brickell key," he answered. "Then t'night I meet up with Marcus an' he hands me an envelope full o' cash."

"And you never have any trouble – ?"

"Isabella! What happened? I thought you were right behind us, but I lost sight of you."

Both Jojo and Fiona turned and stared with wide eyes at the tour group who were now on deck. The man who called out was called Kurt and it had been his wife who had looked so concerned at the arrival of a single woman joining their party.

"Oh, I was there, Kurt," Fiona smiled. "It was a wonderful sight, wasn't it? I've never dived a wreck before. I really must call my hubby and tell him all about it." Turning away, she rolled her eyes at Jojo and headed over to one of the loungers to dry off under the warmth of the sun.

The second dive was closer to the shoreline and only went to a depth of thirty metres and Fiona made sure that on this one she was seen by the tour group. Jojo's strategy only worked because he kept the paying customers aboard his boat happy, safe and clueless to what was really going on. That meant she had to play her role and do her best to fit in as a foreign tourist whose workaholic partner was too busy to join her on a dive trip.

Once back on board, Jojo had laid out a meal for them. As the sun started to go down, Fiona settled back to continue her study of the women in the group. As the evening progressed, she gradually started to mirror their way of moving and their gestures. By the time they reached the marina and prepared to go their separate ways, she had even let a few Americanisms slip into her cut-glass English accent.

"Ya making some changes, I see," Jojo handed her kit bag.

"Well, if I'm staying, I should try to fit in," she answered in a passable American accent. "In our line of business, it pays to blend in."

"That is does, girl, that it does. I'll be meeting up with Marcus later tonight. D'ya care to meet me back here for breakfast and I'll pay you your share?"

"Mmm," she grinned, "a large sum of money and I heard- Michelle was it?- mention Mary Brickell Village. Is that around here?"

"Yeah, it is. So you're goin' for the Miami party girl look then? You have any idea how much trouble that look is going to bring your way?"

The grin changed into a smirk. "Oh, I can handle me self, – and don'tcha tink sometimes it's nice ta surprise people?"

"Ha, yer certainly full o' surprises, girl," Jojo laughed.

"You have no idea, Jojo." She turned away, but then turned back. "Marcus is arranging ta fetch all me big toys down from New York, but I could do wiv making some new contacts."

The gunrunner ran a hand over his head. Fiona could read his expression. She was still an unknown quantity. He had worked with her because Marcus asked him to use her. That didn't mean he was willing to vouch for her, at least not yet.

"Tell me what yer need an' I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, I'll draw up a shopping list for ya tomorrow." Even to her own ears, she could tell her new accent was going to need some more work. But she had no doubt by the time she was ready to face Michael again, she would be a whole new woman.

"I cannae wait ta introduce ham ta tha new me," she thought with a smile, wondering just how the tight the ex-spy's security would be.

But she always did love a good challenge.

()()()()

"Relationships – they're just not my thing."

Michael Westen's words from three nights earlier drifted through Fiona's mind as she stood before a full length mirror in her motel room. Turning one way and then another, she took her time checking out her latest persona. Fiona Glenanne, hardened New York arms dealer, was gone and in her place stood Fiona Glenanne, pampered South Beach party girl, at least on the surface.

"They never were."

She studied the dress she had chosen to début the Americanized version of herself. Tilting her head to one side, she wondered what Michael would make of the new style. Would he like the soft, silky texture of the dress she had chosen? Turning to one side and then the other, she concluded he would admire the way it clung in all the right places, emphasising her waist and hips and he would no doubt note that with her hair pulled back and the single shoulder strap on the dress, it left her shoulders, neck and throat bare and very kissable.

"If it makes you feel any better, you were the closest I ever got."

She slipped her pedicured and painted toes into her new shoes, a delightful pair of knock-off, four-inch high Jimmy Choo wedges. Satisfied with her new image, she picked up her Fendi purse and strutted out of the motel room and across to the nearest commuter parking lot. It was time to go shopping for the right vehicle to match the "new" her.

"But it just wasn't close enough, – I guess."

It took her twenty minutes to find what she was looking for and three minutes for her to claim her prize: a new model dark blue Audi A4.

Driving out of the parking lot, it was lucky for Fiona that she wasn't in a rush to reach her destination as the heavy morning traffic was moving at little more than a crawl. Travelling in the slow moving queuing traffic gave her plenty of time to think about what she wanted and how she was going to set about getting it.

"It coulda worked out between us, Michael." She blinked as her own words came back to her.

She had gone about things all wrong, she realized that now. Throwing herself at him, trying to seduce him so soon after their reunion had been a mistake. He had thought that this was just another one of their ships passing in the night moments.

"You were robbing banks for the IRA."

And that's what it might have been except for two very important details. He was no longer a spy, his own people had thrown him out into the cold, and she was no longer affiliated to the IRA or any other criminal or terrorist organization. For the first time in their long association, they could be whatever they wanted to be.

"And a spy is just a criminal with a government pay check."

It didn't matter that he had no money. Money was easy, as were guns and explosives. A normal regular life, that was going to be the hard part. She blinked and brushed a hand over her face. It didn't matter to her what they chose to do, as long as in the end they did it together.

"Michael Westen, it's time we set to work on a few o' those relationship issues of yours," she spoke out loud in her new accent as she pulled into a parking spot close to the loft Michael was calling home.

Leaving the car, she strode along the uneven pavement with a determined air about her. Reaching the high metal gates, she slipped inside and made her way up the rickety stairs. At the top, she paused just long enough to pull one the clips from her hair before picking the truly pathetic lock on the door.

Once inside she wrinkled her nose at the smell of decay which filled the large, mostly empty space, before taking the opportunity to see for herself how well Michael was fitting into civilian life.

It was a short investigation.

"Not a great start, Michael," she tutted.

From what she could see he wasn't even making an effort. Some cheap bedding, a couple of power tools, a soldering iron – and four cups of blueberry yogurt in the fridge - did not make a home.

Strolling over to the far end of the room, she discovered a small bathroom: a sink with a long crack in the bowl minus a plug, an ancient claw footed bath in need of a thorough clean and a fresh coat of enamel. Turning away, she didn't even want to think about the toilet. Frowning at the lack of home comforts, she went back to where the bed or rather the piled up mattresses sat in the middle of the room.

Sitting down, she ran her hand over the thin bed cover. Lifting the pillow, she held it close to her face, breathing in his scent. "I can see I'm going to have my work cut out for me," she muttered.

Placing the pillow back where she had taken it from the head of the bed, she reached across to where she had spotted a small pile of crumpled magazines. Laying down on the bed, she began to skim through the old editions of Soldier of Fortune and Survival Weaponry and Technique.

It seemed in no time at all she heard the sound of shoes on the metal staircase. Smiling, she quickly rearranged herself on the bed; it was time to let Michael know that this time she wasn't moving on.

The door swung open and he came through fast with his handgun leading the way.

"Hello, Michael." She peered over her shoulder, smiling softly.

"Fi, you're here." He came to a stop and slipped the gun out of sight.

He didn't sound that pleased to see her, but it didn't matter. She just had to explain how things had changed. "I came by for a visit. The door was locked. So I broke in."

She shifted slightly on the bed as he came closer. Her smile widened as she the fought the urge to laugh at his confusion.

"New accent? New style?" He waved a hand in her general direction.

"I'm in Miami now, I can't very well be talkin' like a frigging leprechaun now can I? This is the new me, Michael. For now."

"So, you're staying in town then? G-reat, but listen, Fi, now is not a really good time."

Now he was trying to get rid of her? Why would he –? And there it was.

"Oh, Jesus, Mike, you didn't tell me she was gonna be here."

Oh, she'd been waiting for a chance to get her hands on that bastard. She was on her feet, ready to rip the head off SEAL Commander Sam Axe. "You cost me a lot of money, you sonuvabitch! I've been waiting to talk to you for a long time."

If Michael hadn't got in her way, catching hold of her and using her own momentum to spin her away, she would have taken her revenge there and then. As it was, the coward was half way up the steps leading to a small platform high above her head.

"I cost you?" Axe whirled round. "Okay, for starters, what you're talking about never officially happened alright? But unofficially, even if it had, you deserved a lot worse than what you got, lady!"

Deserved worse? He thought she deserved worse? Oh he was going to pay for that, and so was Michael if he didn't move out of the way. Her hand curled around an empty beer bottle which she'd noticed earlier.

"That was a legitimate purchase! The US government had no business -" Michael ducked, and the bottle broke harmlessly against a metal strut, missing it's target.

"Yeah? Legitimate business? How is a Libyan arms dealer legitimate? How do you figure that?" Finally the old man was showing some fire and was trying to push past Michael. If she could get to her purse, she had a brand new stun gun just waiting to be christened.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" She was thwarted by Michael wrapping his hands about her arms holding her at bay. "Fi, I'm thrilled that you have come by. But Sam and I need to talk about a job, so you -"

"Job?" He thought he could actually make her leave? Breaking out of his grip, she sat down and glared over his shoulder at the old man still standing on the stairs. "Sounds like fun. I'm in."

"Yeah." She took a degree of pleasure from Axe's resigned huff and in Michael's look of defeat.

Round one to Glenanne. She smirked as Axe retreated up the stairs.

"Fiona, I need to talk to you – outside."

"You're taking his side?" She turned her head to regard Michael through narrowed eyes.

"Y – No, look, come outside... Please, we need to talk."

He sounded sincere, but he always did when he wanted something. After sending one more death stare up to where she could hear Axe stomping about on the high platform, she got to her feet and slowly strutted out through the door Michael was holding open for her.

"So?" She leaned back precariously against the metal safety rail, squinting in the bright sunlight.

"Sam is my friend," he began. "He's helping me with the burn notice... If you're going to be around -"

"I can't believe you, Michael!" He would rather have the help of some washed up, old booze hound? "He's the one who -" She was that furious that she couldn't finish the sentence.

"I know, I was there – remember?" He stepped closer, smiling that soft charming smile which melted her anger. "I never told you, it wasn't important at the time, but it was Sam who gave me the identity of Libyan informer who got your deal busted. If it hadn't been for him, you would have never got out of Cairo in one piece."

The hands which had gripped her so tightly a few minutes earlier now reached out to gently stroke up and down her arms as he continued to explain. "If you remember, I arrived after the take down. You were about five seconds from being arrested when Sam's team turned away from chasing you down. He did that on my say-so."

"He –,"

"British intelligence had leaked it was an Irish informer who aided us and them in stopping the arms deal. It was Sam who arranged for me to be there when the Brits turned the real informer loose... It meant that I could let your brother know whose name to pass on to the Libyans."

She stood with her eyes closed, enjoying his gentle touch.

"Him? That boy scout?" She opened her eyes to stare deeply into his clear blue orbs, searching for the truth. Their lips were mere inches from each other. Swaying slightly, she leaned in, wanting to feel the touch of his lips on hers.

Then he was gone, stepping back with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes," he confirmed. Now with the crisis averted, he was pulling away from her. "So, if you're planning on staying around and helping out, you're going to have to be nice."

"Nice? With him?" She pulled a face; the thought of it was enough to turn her stomach. "How about polite? I might be able to manage polite," she offered – with one provisio. "If he keeps his mouth shut."

"Thank you, Fi," Michael breathed out, his hand already on the door. He paused, "Look, I need to speak to Sam, do you think –?"

"I'll wait out here." She grinned magnanimously at the thought he was about to break the good news to Sam Axe.

"Thank you."

She waited less than a minute before removing her shoes and slowly and silently opening the door and slipping back inside. There was no way she was going to miss this.

She could see Sam pacing up and down. His voice carried and echoed throughout the empty space. "She's bad news, Mikey. Hell, let's face it she's a goddamn liability – and when she's around, you forget how to think straight."

"She can help. You can't deny she's good at what she does."

"What she does is cause chaos, that is when she's not blowing stuff up or out committing every crime known to man."

Oh, he was going to pay for that. Fiona glared up at the platform.

"Sam, I never told you how I knew where to find you in Istanbul."

Oh no! Fiona paled. No, that wasn't him, was it? She felt sick as Michael confirmed her worst fear.

"It was her...Fiona. I - er, I was working a job and we hooked up."

Working a- You almost got me killed, Michael Westen! That's what you meant to say.

"She told me that she had heard that Hezbollah had taken an American soldier prisoner and gave me the location of where you were being held in the city. Nobody knew the place existed. If she hadn't-."

"Huh, she was probably one of the ones who -"

"No, she wasn't involved. But if she hadn't told me what she knew -"

"Okay, brother, we'll try things your way." Sam sounded as happy as she did at the prospect of working together.

"Thanks, Sam."

Fiona pursed her lips. If she had known it was Sam Axe who had been locked in a cell, beaten and starved and from what she had heard soon to be executed, would she still have told Michael? she wondered as she slipped back outside onto the staircase.

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she frowned and squinted into the sun. Yes, she would have, she was forced to admit. It was bloody difficult to hurt a dead man. She smiled as she heard Michael approach the door to "let" her back in to begin planning the job.

However, even though she had promised to play nice with Sam Axe, that didn't mean she couldn't accidentally drop an anvil on his head or let him trip over a tiny bit of C-4 if the opportunity arose. She might even get away with unintentionally discharging her weapon if she was careful...

()()()()


End file.
